<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>All I See Is You by HamishMcCat</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055091">All I See Is You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamishMcCat/pseuds/HamishMcCat'>HamishMcCat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is having a day, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley makes it better, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), pre-armaggedon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:34:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamishMcCat/pseuds/HamishMcCat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale was having a day. </p><p>Everyone has days like this, even angels. A day when just nothing seems to go right. Especially when that angel had a brand new sternly worded memo about his miracle use and a call to meet with Gabriel to ‘explain himself’.</p><p>------------</p><p>When nothing goes right in Aziraphale's day, there is always one bright spot, in the form of a red-headed demon, to make it better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All I See Is You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This takes place sometime in the early 2000, a few years before the Antichrist is on either of their radar's.</p><p> </p><p>Wonderful Podfic adaptation by Sky Asimaru <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318707">here</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale was having <em> a day.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Everyone has days like this, even angels. A day when just nothing seems to go right. Especially when that angel had a brand new sternly worded memo about his miracle use and a call to meet with Gabriel to ‘explain himself’.</p><p> </p><p>The memo had become quite crumpled since it arrived yesterday afternoon as Aziraphale paced and fretted through the bookshop. This was far from his first memo about miracle usage and with each one he became less concerned and more annoyed. </p><p> </p><p>Who exactly was it who decided how many miracles were ‘too many’ or ‘frivolous’? He was the only angel permanently stationed on Earth, so what scale were they holding him to? </p><p> </p><p>And Gabriel never let Aziraphale ‘explain himself’. He just lectured and rambled on, spewing as many Heavenly buzzwords as he could. Aziraphale would dutifully listen and nod, but was not allowed to speak. </p><p> </p><p>The whole thing made Aziraphale's head throb. He definitely drank too much last night.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley and he had opened a lovely bottle of Veuve Clicquot the other day as part of their centuries old tradition of making a toast before one of them left on a journey. The one who remained at home would keep the bottle fresh to finish when the other returned. There had been occasions when they had kept a bottle bright and bubbly for decades. This had been a bon voyage for Crowley's latest trip to...to...where was he going again...Morocco? Monaco? Aziraphale couldn't remember. The point was, Aziraphale could no longer keep the bottle fresh with a miracle. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley was going to be disappointed when he returned and found it gone. Aziraphale knew he would understand and he would make it up to the demon with a whole case of Veuve Clicquot. But as it was, Aziraphale could not let such fine champagne go to waste, so there was nothing for it but to drink it himself. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn't until he had finished the bottle that Aziraphale remembered that he could not miracle the alcohol out of his system. He would have to deal with the after effects the human way. </p><p> </p><p>If that wasn't enough to get Aziraphale's feathers ruffled, he was arguably more annoyed by the fact that his electric kettle was on the blink. </p><p> </p><p>If he didn't have a sternly worded memo crushed in his fist, Aziraphale would have just miracled the darn thing fixed. Or maybe he would have just miracled himself a cup of tea, though it wouldn't have been as good as manually brewed. </p><p> </p><p>But, alas, he had the memo, so he decided that he would swing into the little cafe by the bus stop on the way to his meeting with Gabriel. He had yet to find a cafe that's tea was <em> exactly </em> to his liking, but just for today it would be tolerable. </p><p> </p><p>As Aziraphale left the bookshop, he discovered that the London weather reflected his mood. Despite the chipper reassurance of numerous weather reports that the city was in for a week of sunshine and warmth, the city was blanketed in angry looking clouds. It felt as though the landscape was coloured only in shades of mottled grey. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale headed off towards the cafe. He should have enough time to grab a tea and catch the bus to the entrance to Heaven. If Crowley were in town he would have asked him for a lift, despite the demon’s reckless driving. He could use the company, and snarky reassurance that he had done nothing really wrong, before a meeting with the Archangel. Aziraphale sighed. Crowley would be back soon. This trip was only supposed to take a week, maybe two, at the most. He just had to remind himself that it’s not so bad. </p><p> </p><p>This time of the morning the cafe was usually pretty quiet, so it should have been a quick trip. There was only one person in line in front of him and he had decided to get himself a <em> pain au chocolat </em> as a little treat.</p><p> </p><p>Well, that was his plan until he saw that the person in front of him pull out, what is quite frankly, a tome of orders. Scraps of paper scattered as they leafed through various handwritten, highly complicated, drink requests. They must have been ordering for their entire office. Aziraphale watched as the harried barista darted here and there, frothing milk, blending iced drinks, and, to Aziraphale’s dismay, grabbing pastries out of the case at an alarming rate. On a normal day, Aziraphale would have tried to ease the barista’s burden, but today he wasn’t sure if that would be considered too ‘frivolous,’ so his hands stayed clasped behind his back and he did his best to send them positive thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>By the time it was his turn to step up to the counter, the bakery case had been stripped bare of everything save a few crumbs. A cup of tea would just have to do. As Aziraphale paid, he spared a glance to the clock on the wall, and fiddlesticks, he was late. Aziraphale hurried out of the cafe just in time to see the bus he was planning to take pulling into traffic.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh as he sat down on the bus stop bench. He was going to be late to work again. He didn’t even know how it was really possible to be late in Heaven since it wasn’t really subject to Earthly time, but he was sure Gabriel would chastise him.</p><p> </p><p>He raised the cup of tea to his lips and...of course. It was cold. Even Aziraphale’s angelic patience was being tried by this day.</p><p> </p><p>When the next bus pulled up, Aziraphale tossed the cup of cold tea in the rubbish bin and climbed the steps and chose a seat up top. He had just settled himself in for a good mope when he heard ringing.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around and discovered he was the only one on the upper story of the bus, and much to his surprise the ringing was coming from his coat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Nokia mobile phone that was letting out a harsh, digital, barely musical tune. He recognized it as the one that <em> should </em>be in his desk drawer in the bookshop. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley had bought him the ridiculous device in an attempt to modernize the angel, and while Aziraphale had never, himself, removed the mobile from its spot in his drawer, he often found himself putting it back. The mobile had the habit of turning up on his person because Crowley <em> expected </em> him to be carrying it.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale could not hide his smile as he read Crowley’s name on the screen.</p><p> </p><p>Normally he would not be so inconsiderate as to answer his mobile on the bus, but, with the day he was having, he really wanted to hear the demon’s voice. He glanced around to make sure he was still alone before pressing the green button to answer. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, dear.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Aziraphale!” Crowley's voice is filled with excitement, but quickly shifts to a quieter concern. “Where are you? Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I'm fine. I'm on a bus.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley snickered. The sound warmed Aziraphale's heart. “Answering your mobile on a bus? Seems a little rude of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm quite alone dear, I assure you.”</p><p> </p><p>“So where are you off to this unexpectedly dreary day?”</p><p> </p><p>“Unexpectedly dreary? How do you kno…” Aziraphale gasped, “Crowley, are you back in London?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yup. Fresh in off my temptation. But you're avoiding my question. Where are you going?”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale dithered a bit before answering. “I was, um, called into the office, so to speak.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bless it! What idiotic reason are they calling you in for this time? It isn't miracles again is it?”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale sighed, “It is.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley bit back a swear. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Angel.”</p><p> </p><p>Whether he was right or wrong, it was nice to feel like he had at least one being on his side. “Thank you for saying so dear.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley growled, “Don't <em> thank </em> me! Look, tell you what, this meeting shouldn't take <em> that </em>long, right? It's all the same bullshit as last time. I’ll meet you at the bookshop in an hour and I'll take you out to lunch, alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds lovely.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, Angel, I'll see you in a bit. Don't let that wanker, Gabriel, get to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won't. See you soon.” Aziraphale hung up with a small smile on his face and a bit of lightness in his heart. He'd be seeing Crowley this afternoon. He reminded himself that it's not so bad. </p><p> </p><p>While on the call with Crowley, there had been a brief bit of brightness in the sky, but now that the call was over the grey closed back in. </p><p> </p><p>Normally Aziraphale would nudge the bus driver to drop him off right in front of the entrance to Heaven, but without a miracle he would have to settle for the actual stop two blocks away. He didn't mind, the walk would be nice he thought. </p><p> </p><p>Then the heavens opened up. </p><p> </p><p>It was not a soft London drizzle. It had begun to pour fat, heavy drops. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale let out a whine of frustration. He had not thought to bring an umbrella and he couldn't miracle himself one, nor could he use a miracle to keep himself dry. Less than a minute after getting off the bus he could feel the rain soaking through his top coat to his jacket. By the time he was heading up the escalator into Heaven he could feel the dampness on his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re late.” Gabriel said as soon as Aziraphale entered his office, not even looking up from his paperwork. </p><p> </p><p>“I do apologize for my tardiness.” Aziraphale said, not really meaning it and plastering on an apologetic smile that didn’t reach his eyes, knowing that Gabriel wouldn’t notice the insincerity. </p><p> </p><p>Gabriel gave him a quick once over. “You’re wet.”</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact. There was no sympathy, no offer to miracle him dry or any other type of assistance. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale resisted the urge to quip ‘well spotted,’ instead saying, “Yes, we had a bit of unexpected weather in London.”</p><p> </p><p>A sneer briefly flitted across Gabriel’s face before his usual smiling facade slipped back into place. “Is that why you were late? You could have done something about all that.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming before he replied. He was cold, wet, hungover, and it was taking all of his self control to maintain his demure appearance. “Since I was summoned here about my miracle usage, I figured it would be best to refrain from…”</p><p> </p><p>Gabriel cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Yes, well, your use of miracles has been brought to our attention.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale began to tune out as Gabriel launched into his usual canned speech. The Archangel had stood from his desk and walked around his office, talking more to the room than directly to Aziraphale. </p><p> </p><p>The buzzwords were relatively new. Words like ‘trajectory’ and ‘synergy’ were peppered throughout. Gabriel used ‘vis-á-vis’ twice, incorrectly in different ways both times. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley, who claimed to have invented buzzwords, had made Aziraphale a buzzword bingo card, which was sitting in his desk drawer. He would consult it once he got home, but he was pretty sure this speech would score a blackout bingo. </p><p> </p><p>“If we don’t see improvement, we may have to think about relocation back to Heaven.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale instantly tuned back in as his blood ran cold. It was always part of the speech, the implication that he might not last another day at his Earthly assignment. He knew, logically, that it was an empty threat, but still the thought of being taken from his home, from his bookshop, from his Crowley, never failed to fill him with fear. </p><p> </p><p>“But I don't think we need to discuss such drastic measures yet, do we Aziraphale?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, of course not. I shall be the paragon of miraculous discretion.” Aziraphale assured with a nervous giggle, his eyes downcast in supplication. </p><p> </p><p>“Good, good.” Gabriel clapped Aziraphale on his soggy back then looked at his now moist hand in disgust. He miracled himself up a hand towel and dried his hands on it. “I think that is all for today.” He returned to his desk, miracling the towel away.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, sir.” </p><p> </p><p>Gabriel did not spare him a second glance and made a gesture of dismissal. </p><p> </p><p>At the front door Aziraphale saw it was still pouring. He could try catching another bus or hailing a cab, but he was already wet, he might as well just walk. </p><p> </p><p>In better weather, the walk was usually a pleasant one. He and Crowley would often walk it together if they both were called in at the same time. Today Aziraphale, despite the deluge, felt disinclined to rush. He walked slowly, allowing the rain to soak into his clothe, making his outward appearance match his frame of mind. </p><p> </p><p>As he approached the bookshop he felt that familiar demonic presence. Crowley had already arrived and let himself in. A quick glance at his pocket watch let Aziraphale know that Crowley was not, in fact, early. For the second time today, he was running late. But he knew that even if he might tease, Crowley would never scold him for it like Gabriel did. </p><p> </p><p>Home at last, he pushed open the door and was greeted by the familiar tinkle of the shop’s bell. There was a rustling clammer from the backroom that sounded distinctly of a demon starting awake and flinging himself off of a sofa.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley shouted his name, coming out of the backroom, glasses missing and shoulder length copper hair mussed from sleep. </p><p> </p><p>The demon stopped short, his brow knit with worry as he took in the sight of the water logged angel that stood in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Angel, you're soaked through.” His golden eyes were wide with concern. His hands came up, reaching toward the angel, but then stopped, hovering between them. “I know you don't like miracling your clothes. Here.”</p><p> </p><p>With a small snap, a large towel appeared in Crowley's hand. It was a creamy beige color and looked ever so fluffy. Aziraphale could feel warmth coming off of it, as though it had just been pulled from a dryer. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale just stood and stared, blinking at the proffered towel. Aziraphale found his world tunnel visioned down to just the demon. At that moment the trumpets heralding Armageddon could have sounded and the walls of the bookshop could have crumbled like Jericho's and Aziraphale would not have had a clue. All he saw was Crowley. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, Angel, are you alright?” Crowley's concern had shifted to confusion. He moved to wrap the towel around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and let out a strangled ‘oof’ as he suddenly found himself with an armful of sopping wet angel. There was an audible wet squish as their bodies collided. </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale had lunged forward with a sob, a small hysterical sound, and wrapped his arms around Crowley's shoulders and burying his face deep into Crowley's neck and hair. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's back, bringing the towel with him. “Hey, Angel, what's all this?”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale moved his head slightly allowing him to whisper quietly into the demon’s ear, “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley hissed and tried to pull back, but Aziraphale's grip did not loosen. “Bless it, Angel! Don't thank me!”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> want </em> to thank you.” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley's neck. </p><p> </p><p>“What on Earth are you even thanking me for?”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale pulled back without letting go of Crowley’s neck, so he could meet his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Anthony J. Crowley, I want to thank you for being the best thing in my life.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley's irises blew out wide and he responded with a very eloquent “Ngk.”</p><p> </p><p>It was Crowley's turn to have his world narrow down to the pin-prick point of the being in front of him. It took a few moments for his system to reboot and his mental facilities to come back online. He shook his head to clear it and he was able to turn his focus back to something besides the sparkle in Aziraphale's eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Namely the fact that the angel was still dripping onto the bookshop floor. There was quite a puddle pooling at his feet. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on Angel, let's get you out of these wet clothes.” He looked down at his own now sodden front. “And I guess I need a change too.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you must tell me all about your trip!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah! I brought you a present back from Moscow.” Crowley pulled free for Aziraphale's grasp and darted towards the backroom. </p><p> </p><p>“Moscow! That's where you went. I couldn't remember this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley chuckled as he returned holding a bottle aloft. “I can't believe you forgot where I was. I don't know if I should share this bottle of Stolichnaya with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It would be fair.” Aziraphale looked up at him from under his lashes and put on a slight pout. It was an expression he knew his demon could never be mad at. He often used it to break bad news. “Since I couldn't keep the Veuve Clicquot fresh with miracles I had to drink it all myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley countered his expression by putting on an exaggerated pout. He smiled when Aziraphale looked stricken. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell you what, make me a Moscow Mule and I'll forgive you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale smiled. “I have the perfect ginger beer for that. Oh! And some lovely copper mugs that I haven't used for centuries.”</p><p> </p><p>As they settled in for the evening in dry clothes with drinks in hand Crowley asked, “How was your day besides having to visit the wanker?”</p><p> </p><p>“It was one of the best days of my life.” Aziraphale answered earnestly.</p><p> </p><p>“Really? It didn't sound like it on the phone.”</p><p> </p><p>“I have to admit, parts of today were quite trying, but you came home, my dear. Any day when I get to be with you is one of the best days of my life.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley flushed a deep red and let out another small ‘ngk’ as Aziraphale snuggled into his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“What's your plan for tomorrow, Angel? Gonna open up the shop?”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale thought for a moment, “You know, since I'm supposed to keep my miracle usage to a minimum, I think I would rather like to leave the shop closed.” He glanced sideways up at the demon with a mischievous little smirk. “Maybe I'll try for another ‘best day of my life,’ if you could be convinced to spend it with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley smiled down at his angel. “I think I might be convinced to clear my schedule.” He planted a small kiss on top of fluffy white curls. “I'm all yours.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you are dear. And I'm yours.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ngk.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aizarphale is basically living a day pretty close to the one from Dido's "Thank You." The song got stuck in my head the other day after I had A DAY at work that involved a small flood and soaking wet shoes and then all I could think of was these two. </p><p>Dido's "Thank You" <a href="https://youtu.be/1TO48Cnl66w">here</a>.</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318707">[Podfic] All I See is You</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru">SkyAsimaru</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
</body>
</html>